Date: Tue, 19 May 1998 05:04:47 PDT
From: "Lars M. Culverine"
Subject: Kidnapping Through the Stream of Time 3
KIDNAPPING THROUGH THE STREAM OF TIME
by Lars M. Culverine (c) 1998
CHAPTER 3.
Welcome Home!
"Wake up, Michael! Wake up!" The boy stirred, his eyelids fluttered
and he opened his beaming eyes. He jerked a bit. It wasn't a dream!
A clearly lit room filled by lots of unknown things, his head still
swam, a faint, slight vertigo, his disguised sight dimly recognizing
the closest surroundings as suddenly a well-known guy appeared,
this time without his white coat on, smiling:
"My, you have done it! You scared the heck out of me. You know
you fainted? The time-travel doesn't seem to do any good for you.
Don't be afraid, the headache's going to vanish soon. I felt
the same, too."
These words encouraged the boy. He woke up to the state of
full-consciousness, sat up immediately and blurted out:
"It is? Did it turn out well? Are we in the future now?"
"Yes, we're home now. Welcome to my world! Welcome to the year of 1998!"
The boy was amazed: "That's a terrific nice house! Is this where you live?
Alone? Is this everything yours?"
"As you can see. I earn enough to be able to afford it. Well, all but
the house. My parents bought it and now I pay it off to them. We have
made a deal about it, you know."
"Wow, it MUST'A cost you a lot!"
"You know... not that much. Well it does look like it did, when you
look around and see a nice house with lots of beautiful things in but
not everything is THAT expensive nowadays like before in your times...
There are lots of people who can afford almost the same as me!"
"Same like you? Really? You all sure are so fine ev'ryday!"
"You know, there is not everything THAT great, even now we have lots
of poor and unemployed people but even those can afford more nowadays
than before... er, I'm sorry, I'm still talking things and
I completely forgot to introduce myself!"
And then I woke. My name is the same like his! Can I really tell him?
Just so?
"Well what's your name then?" the little one asked.
My face took a serious expression: "You know, Michael, I... I don't
know how to explain. It's hard to explain... But you would get known
about it anyway, so I must tell you. I'm glad you have believed me
when we met in the factory and I would like you to believe me now.
Well... even if it sounds unlikely... my name... my name is the SAME
like yours. My name is MICHAEL GIERONYME."
The boy jerked and then he smiled in disbelief: "No way! I'm not gonna
b'lieve this!"
Without a word spoken I lifted out my driving licence from the shirt
pocked and handed it to Michael, saying: "Just have a look! This is my
driving licence... I mean... the paper that allows me to drive cars.
Can you see the picture?"
The boy was amazed: "It's in colour!"
"Of course it is in colour, but this is not that important now.
Whom can you see on the picture? Is it me?"
"Yeah, it's you," the boy breathed out, surprised.
"And what name is written by the picture in there?" I asked.
The boy stunned and read out in disbelief: "Michael Gieronyme..."
"And now please read aloud what else is written in there," I asked him.
The boy started to read but he stopped, embarassed, in the half
of the sentence: "Date-of-birth-nine-teen se-ven-ty-seven,
the six-teenth of... AUGUST?" He turned back to me, alarmed:
"This... this ain't a chance, huh?"
"You're right Michael. It isn't a chance. Now listen to me
very carefully, I'm going to tell you about it."
And I started to talk about all the story, about how everything was
iniciated, as I discovered his tombstone where I found out, amazed,
the fantastic match of his first name, last name and the date of birth
with mine own stats. I was telling him how I wanted to find out
more about it, how I was searching everywhere, how I discovered
the newspaper article and the orphanage files with his picture,
how I longed and afterwards realized to travel to him to the past,
how I was afraid whether everything was going to turn out well.
I told him, how we both came back, how frightened I was when I found him
slumped down in the chair, unconscious, how I transported him to my
place where, to my greatest relief and happiness, he woke up at last.
"Well," I finished, "that's all I wanted to tell you."
Just when I said this, I felt ashamed. It wasn't everything at all!
I concealed from the little Michael what I have been succesfully
concealing from anyone for years: that I like little boys, just like him.
Now I figured out, what threat hangs above me. The boy is completely alone,
he doesn't have anyone to trust but me, if he's going to stay here, I will
have to instantly resist the temptation to do ANYTHING, what would occur
in my mind by my perverted phantasizing. Now it began to tell on me
completely: I acted as if I believed I was travelling into the past
to save the boy, but I found I thought selfishly between the lines
at the same time how to get the boy for myself. Now I succeeded.
I've got him. But, what is going to be next?
Absent-minded, I corrupted the time-space continuity, I tried
hastily to reverse the changed history, still being a bit unsure
of how succesfully I did, I just tore the boy out of his world
transporting him to my own. Who gave me the right to do it?
I felt miserable. But now it looked like I couldn't do anything
with it anymore. And how, for the gosh sakes? To send the boy
back to certain death?
Look, a new invention! The time machine! And I abused it, just so,
for my own intention, right at its first practical apply! I failed
in thinking out any slightest positive reason of that travel
into the past of mine. I saved the boy? Phew, but for what cost!
These and other thougts were running in my head, maybe long enough
for the boy to feel there was apparently something strange going on
because he asked: "What's wrong?"
"Aw, nothing," I lied, "I just... you know, I feel a bit guilty that
I have drawn you in all this."
"Why? Haven't you saved my life?" the boy objected.
I shook my head. "No, it's not the point. I... look, would you please
tell me something about you? How did you do in your times and all.
I know the life in the past only from the books, you know."
Michael started then, hesitantly at first but soon he talked
obviously more open-minded. He was talking about his everyday
life, about how he went along at school, he was talking about his
friends and enemies.
Soon I have learnt lots of interesting things about the orphanage
childlife in the late twenties, everything seen with the eyes and
spoken in the language of an eleven-year-old boy, all along with his
observations, experiences and skills, everything from the true
living source.
But suddenly I realized some changes that occured in the boy's
behaviour. Every time he spoke about his tutors and schoolmasters
I felt as if there was something wrong. He was roaming his eyes
from one spot to another, his speech was a little stammered and then
he used to change the topics quickly. This appeared especially
when he was speaking about one particular person, who should have
been some kind of a head of the institute. But it wasn't the
headmaster for the boy described the headmaster as a very good
old man, who had lots of sympathy and understanding as well as
kind words for all of the orphans in there.
This came even to the point where Michael faltered so much that
I couldn't hold it back any longer and I asked: "What's wrong?
'You worried about something?"
Suddenly the ices were broken. The boy stuttered only: "No, nothing...
I... I don't want to... please forgive me!" and streams of tears
ran out of his eyes, he curled into the fetal position on the sofa,
sobbing silently.
What now? Oh God, what now? I wanted to soothe him, to make him
feel everything was all right but I was afraid to do anything
so as not to make it even worse. Finally I did, I embraced him
shyly, almost imperceptibly, I sat down next to him, whispering
words of sympathy and understanding for him see that he wasn't
worried anymore.
His reaction was stunning. He pressed his body to mine, wildly,
he hugged me tightly and in a while I felt his silent sobs together
with wet tears on my chest. My heart started to pound frantically.
Now I FELT miserable. The boy trusts me completely! I mustn't
disappoint him! I must resist my temptation!
When the boy soothed a bit, I asked: "What happened to you? 'You care
to tell me about it?"
Michael just shook his head in reject, unspoken. "Give a try," I said,
"Try to tell your story. Maybe you'll feel better after that."
His incredibly beautiful eyes, now wet and reddened from crying, met mine,
looking desperately at my face. He almost screamed: "No, I can't!"
And his sight avoided mine and he started to sob again.
A cold wave of horror flooded my body. A horrendous suspicion started
to grow in my mind. I had to know. I said: "Don't tell me about it,
if you don't want to. But if you ever WANTED to have a talk about it,
I'm here and I can listen. You understand me?"
The boy nodded. "Whatever it was, I'm going to hear it out," I ensured him,
"I'll be dumb and speechless as a grave if you want me not to tell anyone."
The boy nodded once more. Then his eyes met mine again and my heart
was bleeding upon such a careworn, tortured sight, from which I could
read out an absolute trust, a plead for understanding and... guilt?
Plead for forgiving? I couldn't say. The boy sighed at last, and asked,
shivering: "And... you're not gonna tell anyone, are you? Promise!"
"Of course I will not tell anyone. I swear nobody gets ever known
about it!"
His eyes met mine again. Then his sight avoided and, looking down
to the floor, he said so quietly that I could barely hear it:
"They... they hurt me in there! They wanted me to..." He couldn't
hold it back any longer, he broke down again crying out his heart silently.
I froze on the place like struck by lightning. It wasn't difficult to
find out WHAT they wanted him to. But I was still hoping that there
did not happen something like that in there. Little Michael calmed
down in a while and spoke.
Reality has overcome my darkest fears. They ABUSED little boys
in that orphanage! Little Michael encountered this just at the age
of ten!
I learnt about who had done it, how cruel and tyrant ways he had chosen
to keep the boys in obedience so they would never tell anyone and how
the boys could earn some privilegies provided they "were good lads".
Michael's eyes watered again as he described how did it happen for the
first time, how much it hurt and how desperate and helpless he was.
Then I panicked as he showed me almost proudly some little, now healed,
diminutive starlet-shaped scars on his arm and shoulder. "This did one
of older boys, you know, with a cigarette, when I didn't want to be
a good boy for him, too."
I felt a sudden wave of a wild, blind anger. How could anyone hurt
such a beautiful little creature, that way?! My anger however ceased
after a while. All that horor has gone. It disappeared in an abyss,
in the dark abyss of long seventy-one years.
I embraced the boy again and pressed a bit to him. My pulse rate
increased, I felt electrized by any slightest touch of our bodies,
I could feel an increasing vertigo from a sudden burst of mad joy.
My little name-sake I longed to meet so much is now here, with me!
He had already shared all his pain, sorrow and endless enthusiasm
with me, he opened his heart to me with his deepest secret! All this
whirled in my mind now, it was so fantastic, it was so strong that
I slowly ceased to realize that I was loosing control over myself
and my mind suddendly shrieked in alarm as I noticed my muscle
straightening, responding on this situation and how my hand I was
embracing the boy with, was descending slowly, rubbing tenderly
against the boy's shoulder, elbow, continuing lower and lower
to his chest and to his belly and...
Oh God, no!
I feverishly released my grip.
The boy jerked and our eyes met. I couldn't manage to avoid his
sight and so I was forced to bear his searching, asking eyes
the glare of whose almost laser-cut my brain as if seeking
the thought that was now fleeding scared into the deepest corner
of my mind, screaming: 'No! I didn't want this! Forgive me!'
I was roaming nervously with my eyes, chalk-white paled skin in my
face evident. Michael was looking at me for some incredibly long
seconds and then, just as the thrill all around was going to be
absolutely unbearable, his face cleared up and an understanding,
cheering smile appeared:
"Don't be afraid, I know what's up with you. I've known already.
I know that you like l'il boys like me and that you're worried
'bout it becuz ya' don't wanna hurt me! Right?"
I was speechless. The boy could see through me right there!
"How could you find out for the gosh sakes?" I asked, stunned with
panic and a huge relief at once.
"You know, it... I just can find out. When I know something about it
and I'm looking at you, I really can find out so easy. Everytime you
looked at me I felt a bit as if it was the one who wanted me there.
Only that his hands 'n legs were shakin' as he couldn't wait to get me.
But you... you're all different. You're always lookin' at me with
your eyes and you're so happy... and then you move your eyes and you
look as if you did somethin' very bad."
"Are you angry with me?" I asked, shivering, still from the shock,
I have just experienced.
"Not much," the boy sighed, "I... well I just don't know what to think
'bout you. Maybe you're good and maybe you will be good but what if not?"
"You have the right for this," I said silently, "You have the absolute
right for this. But I swear I will never..."
"Please, don't say that. Please don't," the boy pleaded, "you never know.
But I believe you. I must. You're the one now that left me on the whole world."
I swallowed bitterly. 'I must! I must hold it back! I mustn't behave
the same way like the beast from the orphanage!'
Suddenly the boy got up and swatted me playfully into my shoulder:
"So what's gonna be with the bee-day party? You promised me to make
my bee-day!"
His slightly distorted, however clear, high voice completely drove away
all my gloom. Why to worry our souls when we can indulge all gifts
of joy and happiness instead? "Oh, yes, of course! Your birthday!
But... you know, there's a little problem with it!"
"What problem?"
"We don't have the 16th August today!"
"How come we don't?"
"Well, I travelled into the past on another day, so we both
returned on the same other day, too. A bit earlier. Now we have
Friday the 10th July!"
"Uh...so... no bee-day party?"
"Oh yes, of course we'll have the birthday party! We don't want to wait
until August, don't we? You know what? Let me invite you now to the movies!"
The boy beamed happily: "Movies?! Wow, it'll be great!"
"Have you ever been there?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah, we used to go 'n watch, you know, we didn't pay...
'Xactly they caught us usu'lly..." Suddenly he stopped, embarassed.
Lots of stars on the black sky were glowing outside in the dark night.
"Wait... right NOW at night?"
I smiled mysteriously: "Yes, right now. Please sit down here."
I nudged him to sit down on the chair in the middle of the living room.
He obeyed, wondering, having not any slightest idea what comes next.
"Now look out!" I said. "Michael, get ready for your first scientific
shock in your entire life. We're going to the movies now."
After these words I pressed the button on the remote control and the
decorative wooden wall in front of the chairs split into two pieces
and moved aside. The boy's eyes widened. Behind the wooden slide-wall
there a complete home-theater kit was covered including a huge
wide-screen TV, the last VCR prototype equipped with a powerful
receiver, amplifier and the THX sound system. Michael's
eyes widened even more from the joyful awe. "Wow!" he breathed out,
"it's... you have... your OWN movies AT HOME?!"
I smiled. "As you can see..."
"And where is the sir that plays piano and changes those gramo-phono-
graph plates?" Michael asked.
"We don't need him..." I pronounced, smiling, in an sing-song voice.
"In the year of 1930 they discovered a SOUND film!"
"Whoa?"
"Yes, it's a movie that can talk, play music, sounds, songs and all!"
Michael was absolutely speechless. I tasted his indescribable awe
for some marvellous seconds and then I opened the door of the rack
with videotapes. I browsed there for a while and finally I reached out,
having found one of my most favourite: The Neverending Story.
I pulled it out of it's cover and showed the cassette to Michael.
"Look, this is the tape on which the film is recorded."
"What tape, how recorded?" Michael wondered.
"Uh... I don't know how to... well, imagine it's like the
'gramo-phono-graph' plate on which the sound is made and also like
the film from the projector, all in one. Is it clear for you, anyhow?"
Michael nodded. Then he asked: "And what is it about, I mean,
the film? Is it nice?"
"Sure," I said, "it's one of my most favourite films. You're gonna like it,
you will see."
I inserted the tape into the VCR, I sat down next to the boy onto the
wide leather chair and turned on the whole kit. The TV screen went on,
the lights in the living room faded out from dim into stand-by off
and the film started. Oh, people, I can tell you! Michael was in
another world for all those eighty-five minutes of the film,
forgetting at the end where he was. He was completely fascinated from
the fact that the film is in colour, that 'it can speak', he was
speechless from all those SFX, experiencing everything as a true reality.
Now those who haven't seen the film as well as those not interested
please skip both following very long paragraphs. For the other:
keep reading, I'd like to share with you how the boy enjoyed
the main scenes of the film.
With his breath tightly held he observed how Bastien managed to
take shelter in the book store. Then he was marvellously shocked
from enjoying the sfx in the scene with the Rockbiter
approaching on its bike, he was frightened from the graphic
reality of the first attack of the Nothing.
Fascinated he stared at the Ivory Tower, he felt sad, as he learnt
that 'the Emperor is dying', his eyes widened, as he noticed Atreyu
from the Great Plains and he exclaimed right after Bastien:
"My, it's just a boy!" Then he was scared stiff as he saw the evil
glare of the beast-eyes of Kmorg in the flashlight of the storm but
most of all he was impressed by the heart-breaking scene in the Moor
of Sadness.
Together with Atreyu on the screen he pleaded desperately Artex the
horse not to give up, observing with shrieking eyes its inevitable
end, hoping that the poor horse will make it at last. But as another
scene followed, where Atreyu stood in the moor, sobbing, all alone,
the little Michael got it and cried bitterly. But his eyes cleared and
sobs ceased when Atreyu discovered the Morla's Hill. But as Morla the
Oldest suddenly appeared himself, the boy almost shrieked with horror,
when he saw him. Then he tried to encourage Atreyu not to give it up
there in the moor, to fight it back, his pulse increased and eyes
widened in shock, as Kmorg the Beast was approaching and the boy
breathed out in a big relief when Atreyu was saved by Falkor the
Dragon of Happiness in merely the last second.
Michael's reactions were very, VERY much like Bastien's.
He was laughing happily, as he watched over all those worthless
rifts between Engywook the elven-scientist and his old wife
Urgll, he laughed as Falkor couldn't scrub behind his ears,
as Falkor got the BIG ONE injection. Speechless he observed
the mysterious Sphinxes, the Guardians of Sandonorico, he was
startled from the close-up to the scorched, fried face of the
proud knight who failed to pass, then he almost jumped out from
the chair when Atreyu stopped in embarass and called to him as if
he could hear: "Believe in you! Run!" Then, when Atreyu was through,
he fell back, relieved, into the chair but he was en-guarde after a while,
just when Atreyu arrived to the Mirror. Then, frightened, he observed
the blue statues of Sandonorico to fall apart and with an absolutely
honest astonishment he enjoyed the frantic flight of Falkor to the borders
of Fantasia. Then he was terribly afraid as the scene followed where
Bastien's candle-lights blew off and where Atreyu challenges Kmorg to the
last battle a bit later. Then he was stunned again as he saw the final
apocalyptic attack of the Nothing, stunning even more when he heard: "
...and that was the end of Fantasia." But I wish you could see the
expression in his eyes as sadness and despair changed immediately into hope
and happiness when Atreyu exclaimed: "Falkor! The Ivory Tower!" and when
the Tower really appeared from behind the splenetic asteroid, glaring, strong,
impregnable...
Then, as the final scene graduated, he jumped from the chair again,
almost screaming: "Say it! Tell her name!" and he watched, frightened,
what end everything would take. Then he laughed out loud as he
observed Falkor with Bastien on his back, chasing the bad boys and the
playful smile on his lips stayed even after the narrator said:
"...but that is just another story."
When the film was over the boy couldn't move for a long while,
overflooded completely from all the experiences and feelings
he encountered during the film. Then he slowly began to calm down,
realizing where he was and he turned to me with his widened,
beaming eyes: "It was so beautiful! Fantastic! Thanks!"
"You're welcome," I smiled. Then I had a brief glimpse to the time display
on the VCR. I lifted my eyebrows in wonder: "Wow, is it as late as that?
We will have to go to bed now!"
"Now?" Michael said, a bit sad.
"Oh yes. Haven't you already had enough?"
Michael yawned sleepily: "Well, yeahhh, I'd rather go to bed, too."
"Fine, so have a wash, change your dress, go to bed!" I ordered playfully.
"A WASH?" the boy couldn't believe his ears. "Oh yes, of course you
shall have a wash, we have a BATHROOM in this house, too," I smiled,
"it's right over there, just come on."
The boy rolled his eyes and flabbishly slugged up to the stairs.
I chuckled as I watched him to crawl with SUCH aversion to the
NASTY bathroom.
"I didn't know you don't like having wash this much," I remarked.
"I don' like col' water," Michael confessed and turned to me
with a sight that pleaded silently for understanding.
"You can turn on the hot water, if you want," I ensured him.
In a while I guided him to the bathroom. "You make it all alone?"
I asked. "Well, yeah," he answered and stepped in. I closed
the bathroom door, awaiting outside patiently.
I heard him turning the water so I judged that the boy wouldn't have
any problems with the bathroom appliances. Suddenly, a surprised
scream sounded from behind the door. I invaded into the bathroom,
worrried... and then I didn't know whether to be afraid or to smile...
Michael stood next to the bathtub, the shower-hose still gripped in
his hand, water still running out from the sprinkler, he stood there,
wet from head to toe and he has so much surprised expression in his
face that I had to stiffle my laugh.
"What on Earth did you do in here?" I asked curiously.
"I... I wanted to turn on the warm water and it didn't came out so
I thought I haf'ta switch the lever here. I switched it and it
burst out..."
Now I burst out in a honest laugh, too: "I'm sorry, I just forgot.
I didn't realize that you might have never met something like that.
You know, the hot water is to turn on by that red tap and the
lever there is for switching the water to the shower hose. You
don't have to be afraid that the water would be too hot, I have
a sensor installed in there that controls the water temperature
and when it becomes too hot, it will simply cool it down... Hmmm,
it looks like you have to change your clothes."
"But what am I gonna take? I don't have anything to change!"
I frowned. "Well, I'm going to find something. But first you should
take off all the wet stuff. I'm going to pick up some clothes from the
wardrobe."
"All right," the little one sighed, "are you angry with me?"
"Of course not," I said and ran the stairs down.
After a while of searching something suitable I picked up my old
worn-out frothe-pajamas. I was still wearing it three years ago
because up to my 18th birthday my height was very much under my now
actual 5'8". It seemed to be a bit bigger for him but hopefully not
that much. I took it, added a big towel, heading back to the bathroom.
As I was approaching, I could hear the stream of water being turned on
again. I knocked on the door and there sounded from behind:
"Now I can make it, come and have a look!"
I opened the door and glimpsed inside. What I saw made my jaw drop.
The boy stood with his back to me, COMPLETELY NAKED, in the bathtub,
having a shower in there. Thick streams of water were running from his
glaring gold-blonde head down along his cheeks, neck, between the
shoulder-blades, down the wonderfuly shaped back, rounded butt-buns
and slender legs. The cold air that accumulated and streamed from
behind the opened doors reminded the boy I was there. He threw
down the hose, heedless of the head still sprinkling his body with
a thick stream of water from the ankles up to his belly, he wiped
his eyes, stopped the water and turned to me with his
wide-opened, beaming eyes: "It's warm, it's neat warm! That's terrific!"
It almost killed me. Now I COULD see him in his full beauty!
His beaming golden-blonde hair, now mused a bit, eyes no more blue
but green, a marvellous light-green starlets, like two true glowing
emmeralds, then his nicely-shaped eyes with ear-lobes standing slightly
apart, a cute buttony nose rather up and his soft, almost female
features in his lovely little boy-face with his marvelously-shaped
lips that locked two rows of pure-white baby-teeth with two gaps
upstairs, each aside, it was a little face that still kept its charm
full of child innocence.
A slender, little boy, you would never say he's eleven, he could be
a bit under 5 feet with his weight between 70 to 80 pounds. No evident
spot of baby-fat anymore but still no spot of any kind of that
pre-teen husky build-up, neither, his little body was just about to
blossom on the mere onset of puberty still a bit far away. But how far,
I couldn't really say.
His every inhale caused to move his flat chest with not-that-much-noticeably
exposed ribs and with the tiny dark-red nipples, I noticed a slightly rounded
belly, slender velvetty legs, a smooth hairless navel and especially
the lovely little boy-muscle with a pair of little testicles securely
covered by algaishly-wrinkled skinny sac.
I found myself staring at the boy, fascinated. I jerked and turned away.
"I'm sorry," I blushed, "I'm going to put here down the clothes and a towel
for you." I was about to leave as the boy suddendly called: "Wait!"
I turned back, surprised.
"You'll be good, won't you? Say you will, please," he whispered.
When I heard these words, I froze on the place. "What would you like?"
I asked, shivering. "You know... If you wanted to... Could you help me
to soap up and wash me?"
My heart almost stopped. My first trial! I mustn't fail! I just
stood there, stunned. I only nodded, swallowed heavily and came closer
to the boy in the bathtub. I took a sponge, soaped it up and, softly
and systematically, I began to cover his body with the pink foam.
Tenderly, almost unnoticeably I rounded his little back, chest
and belly, neck and legs. However, I still didn't dare to touch
the boy's most private places. I still didn't want to fail.
Suddenly, the boy gripped my hand and lead it softly to his navel.
I stunned. I looked into his eyes with a big question in my face.
I had a feeling as if we both could see through each other's mind:
'There, too? You really want me to? I'm so scared that I'm gonna fail!'
'Don't be afraid! I believe you!' Hesitantly, I soaped the sponge again
and began to circle round the boy's navel and then lower, around his little
boy-thingy. Then I came over to the other side, softly, sensitively circling
round his velvetty butt-buns.
As I absently touched his little boy-muscle, he sighed softly,
silently and closed his eyes. I could barely control my excitement.
I took the sprinkler and rinsed the boy thoroughly. After I have
finished it I smiled at him. He returned my smile, winking at me
conspiratorily.
I spread the big towel, the one I have brought there before and packed
the boy into it. "You want me to dry your hair?" I asked. The boy
nodded and so I took one corner of the towel and started to rub softly
dry the wet pale-golden strands of his beautiful hair.
I was shivering all the time, I couldn't help it. When I was bathing
him before, I was touching his body shyly, tenderly but even any
slightest touch had electrized me, it had increased my pulse rate,
it had sent me almost to the borders of joyful vertigo. He was so close!
I could almost hear his heartbeat, I could feel the wet skin of his
little body, the damp scent of his mused blonde hair! I was almost
crazy from happiness.
When the boy dried up, I suggested him to put on the prepared pajamas.
Its sleeves as well as pant-legs seemed to be a bit longer for him
but, to my (and his) surprise, nothing appeared to slide down
from his body, not even in his waist. I checked him from head to toe.
He looked wonderful.
"All right, we can go to sleep," I said.
"But WHERE am *I* gonna sleep?" Michael asked.
"Well, I thought... in my bedroom. I'm going to lay down in the living room,
you know."
"And... would you let the light on, please?" the boy asked shyly, politely.
"Hmmm, you wouldn't have fallen asleep if I did but I'm gonna let
the bedroom door a bit open for you and at last the light in the corridor
on. Right?"
"Right." Michael agreed.
I led the boy to my bedroom. Michael immediately jumped on the bed
and slid under the sheet, taking pleasure: "What a terrific bed!
Everything here is so soft 'n fresh!"
"You'll be having a great sleep in it, then," I smiled at him,
"so... good night!"
" 'Night," the boy answered, curled his body under the sheet
and closed his eyes.
I turned the bedroom light off, remembering my promise I let it on
in the corridor as well as the bedroom door partly open. Then I returned
to the bathroom and cleaned it up. Michael's soaked clothes,
grey-white-colored, short-sleeved t-shirt, grey shorts with suspenders,
woolen dark-green socks and yellow gym pants, I took everything to throw it
into the dryer and, hurried, I returned back to the bathroom again.
I didn't mean to go to sleep yet, I suggested to have a VERY cold shower...
The stream of cold water caused to freshen my body but not my mind.
It failed to help me get rid of my apprehension. Well, I seemed to pass
the most difficult trial yet, but what is going to be next? How long
I'm going to resist the temptation? And am I really going to?
Then I went just to do number two and as I sat there, I began
to rewiew in my head what all have happened today. I replayed
all the main moments of our encounter, in he factory, in the lab,
in the living-room and especially in the bathroom. I couldn't resist,
I had to think constantly of the boy, how he just stood there in his
beautiful nakedness, how I was giving him a bath, softly, shyly,
how he sighed as I touched him in his most private place...
An then it came. A wild, stunning sensation of an absolute delight,
graduated up to the possessed maximum, pulsing in my temples, burning
out all my mind. As all those thoughts that were running through my
brain grew more and more intense in delight and boldness it caused that
I slowly ceased to control myself and my body responded accordingly.
I just felt my muscle jerk wildly and then I only could helplessly
notice the relieving shot and a warm pulsing stream between my fingers...
I felt so miserable. I failed to prevent it, I failed to get
rid off those tempting thoughts. I sighed out loud deeply, wiping some
droplets that landed where they shouldn't have to. It helped me,
anyway. The withheld tension loosened, relieved and I felt there
was no other spot of the damned lust. I went out and was about to
lay down in the living room as suddendly a panicked shriek of
horror sounded from the bedroom!
I darted into the bedroom, clicked the light on and saw the boy
sitting on the bed, the sheet thrown on the floor, he was looking
in front, his sight blinded, shrieking, his mind absent, sobbing:
"No, no, NO!"
I jumped to him and began to talk to him, I hugged him, I brushed
his forehead, I tried to soothe him, whispering "come on", "it's ok",
"I'm right here", "nobody hurts you" and other words of sympathy.
The boy looked up, the distorting curtains in his absent-blinded eyes
vanished and he realized where he was. "I had a bad dream," he explained
with his trembling little voice. "I know," I said softly, "it's okay,
it's over now."
"Stay here with me, please," the boy whispered.
My, this WAS difficult. Very difficult. But I won at last,
after a short fierce battle I knocked my lust down to the abyss.
"I'm going to stay here until you sleep again," I whispered, "I'll be
watching over you. Nobody hurts you. It's over, you can sleep now well.
Good night!" I brushed his forehead again and sat down on the bedside.
Suddenly, the boy gripped my hand tightly, as if he wanted to ensure
whether I really stayed there. Soothed by the soft touch, he fluttered
his eyelids sleepily, smiled and as he was about to doze off and fall
into the Neverland world of dreams - apparently nicer and more pleasant
than before - yet he managed to half-open his glaring, emmerald starlets,
and asked:
"Hey, Michael, what was the name of the brave warrior-boy and
the flying dog from the movie?"
"Atreyu and Falkor," I smiled back to him.
The boy meekly returned my smile and murmured sleepily: "You know,
I wish so much that we both were the same friends like Atreyu and...
Falkor..."
I stood there like struck by lightning. My eyes even felt wet from
tears for I was moved so much from those words. I could only whisper:
"I'm so glad." Michael couldn't hear my answer however. He has
already slept deeply. I pulled the sheet up to his tiny shoulders,
switched the light off and went out silently... I let the door
open a bit in case he would need my help again.
I laid down on the sofa, curled under the blanket and after a while
I felt my eyes closing, too. I didn't resist it and soon I entered the
deep, dreamless sleep.